


Rescue

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Child Surprise AUs [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Jaskier and Ciri’s rescue outside Kaer Morhen.A deleted scene from The Child Surprise.
Series: Child Surprise AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593625
Comments: 31
Kudos: 777





	Rescue

A shrill whinny broke through the silence, then the stomping of hooves, followed by snorting and grunting.

Vesemir and Eskel met in the hall, Lambert poking his head through a doorway a few moments later. “Is it Geralt?” the younger Witcher grumbled.

But the noises of the evidently distressed horse continued.

It was Roach, Vesemir could see that once they got to the outer courtyard, but she was alone, tossing her head this way and that, snorting, her sides heaving, foaming at the mouth from a long and hard run.

Eskel rushed forward to grab her. “Easy girl,” he said, rubbing his hand over her nose, murmuring the Sign of Axii to calm her. “She’s wounded,” he said, leaning to check her legs. “But not from a fight.”

“Then where’s Geralt?” demanded Lambert.

Vesemir shook himself out of his stunned silence, hurrying down the steps. “Lambert, get our horses,” he ordered, shoving the Witcher toward the stables.

Lambert paused in front of Roach, running a quick eye over her. “We ought to put her out of her misery,” he said, looking down at her inflamed ankles.

“Eskel, put Roach in the stable,” Vesemir said, shaking his head. “Lambert, you touch that mare and you’ll learn you’re never too old for a thrashing. Geralt- Geralt will have to decide.”

_If they found him._ But he didn’t say that part out loud, pulling off Roach’s tack as Eskel walked her toward the stable. They wasted no time, readying their horses quickly and efficiently, mounting, and racing out into the snow to find their friend.

But it wasn’t Geralt they found, but a young girl, standing in the middle of the path, wearing a ripped black cloak. _Geralt's cloak._

_“_ Help!” she sobbed, racing toward them as they drew their horses to a halt. Her lips were blue, her hair tangled, the color strange and blotchy as though someone had tried to dye it. Tears were frozen on her cheeks, and for a moment, Vesemir considered that she might be a wraith.

She ran toward them, sobbing, “Are you Vesemir? Help me, please! Help!”

Vesemir wasted no time in launching himself out of the saddle. There was no hum from his medallion - whatever she might be, whomever - she wasn’t a danger.

“Where’s Geralt?” Lambert asked, swinging his head around as though expecting the Witcher to jump out of the woods.

“We were attacked by wolves,” the girl sobbed. “He told us to take Roach and run.”

“He’s behind you?” Eskel asked. He’d dismounted after Vesemir, although his attention was drawn off the trail. “There’s another man here!” He dropped to his knees, then pulled a blanket wrapped figure out from under a bush.

“That’s Jaskier. I-I’m Ciri,” the girl said. “Geralt wrote a letter- it’s in Roach’s saddlebags. I- I was meant to give it to you, I- I don’t-”

“It’s alright,” Vesemir soothed. “Shhh, there girl, everything’s fine.” He turned, glancing at the man still on horseback. “Lambert-”

“I’ll find Geralt.” He was already spurring his horse on, pressing the gelding in a mad dash down the road.

Eskel was sitting by the man - Jaskier - unwrapping him from the blanket. “What happened to him?” he asked.

“Wolves,” the girl whimpered, rubbing at her face. “He was trying to lead them away from me, but they-” her sentence ended in a choked sob.

Vesemir drew her into his arms, slipping off his cloak and wrapping her in it. “There, now,” he said. “Lambert will find Geralt and we’ll help your friend.” He patted her shoulder, then crawled to Eskel, looking down at the injured man.

“Will he-” Eskel began.

Vesemir gave him a sharp look. He wasn’t certain Jaskier would survive, but it seemed best not to mention that in front of Ciri. She was still sniffling, rubbing at her face in distress.

“We can use the blanket to make a sling, put him between the horses,” Eskel said softly.

They set to work quickly, Ciri watching them in silence, terror shining in her eyes. Once they had the sling in place, Eskel and Vesemir carefully lifted Jaskier into it, the man moaning at the movement and opening his eyes.

“Ciri!” he shouted.

“I’m here!” She hurried forward and Vesemir lifted her, placing her into the sling beside Jaskier.

“Keep him warm, brave little girl,” he told her, giving her hand a squeeze.

She nodded and curled against Jaskier, placing her head on his chest, speaking to him softly to reassure him.

Vesemir and Eskel led the horses back to the keep as quickly as they could without jostling their precious cargo. Back at the keep Vesemir lifted Ciri from the sling, removed it from the horses, and they carried Jaskier inside. He was - seemingly - awake again, mumbling lyrical nonsense to himself.

Ciri hurried after them, her eyes firmly locked on Jaskier.

“The west tower,” Vesemir said. “We’ll take them there.”

Eskel looked horrified at the suggestion, but said nothing, helping to carry the wounded man up the spiraling stairs. They laid him out on the bed, then Eskel ran for supplies as Vesemir cut away his shirt.

Jaskier was talking again, but most of it seemed to be addled nonsense, although Ciri nodded and answered him occasionally with a soft _‘hmm’_ or _‘uh huh.’_

Eskel returned with the herbs, only to hurry away again when Vesemir sent him for “My good coat, the one with the fur lining.”

Ciri chewed at her lip until it bled. “Is Jaskier going to be alright?” she asked.

“There’s no infection,” he said. He pointed across the room, to a pile of firewood, “Dear, can you put those logs on the fire.”

“There’s no fire.”

Vesemir called the fireplace to life with the Sign of Igni, and Ciri hurried to put more logs on it. Eskel returned for the second time, wrapping the girl in the coat, rubbing her shoulders through it in an attempt to stop her shivering.

“Is Geralt here?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“Eskel,” Vesemir said, “check her for frostbite.”

Eskel helped Ciri out of her shoes, rubbing her toes and then fingers.

“It hurts,” she whispered, trying to pull her hands back.

“Good,” he said. “That means you won’t lose them.” He wrapped her more securely in Vesemir’s coat, saying, “Keep your fingers and toes moving. It will hurt less, over time.”

Jaskier screamed as Vesemir tried to suture the wound, and Ciri came hurrying over, grabbing his uninjured hand and squeezing it. “Calm down, Jaskier!” she said. “He’s trying to help!”

“Help?” Jaskier asked. The pain seemed to have woken him, and he struggled against Vesemir’s viselike grip. “He’s as good at helping as Geralt- ow!”

Ciri crawled onto the bed beside him, peering at his wound curiously. Vesemir was trying to stitch his side, but with his whimpering and struggling, it was proving difficult.

“Eskel,” the older Witcher called. “Hold him.”

Jaskier clung so hard to Ciri’s hand she almost feared he would break it. “I have to admit, I’ve had dreams about being held down by strong men, but- OW!”

Vesemir had pressed his hand into Jaskier’s side, pulling together two flaps of torn flesh, which he then stitched.

“Lay still,” Eskel said. “And stop talking.”

“I don’t think he knows how to be quiet,” Ciri said softly.

“Ciri is quite right,” Jaskier said, wincing as Vesemir finished his side and reached for his arm. “I- I’m going to write a song about this. Ah! I’ll call it- ouch! - _The Ballad of the Icy_ \- fuck!” He stopped talking after that, gasping and in too much pain to talk coherently, instead, he only mumbled garbled nonsense, most of which seemed to be swear words.

“There,” Vesemir said after a while. “That’s the best I can do.”

Jaskier’s sides were heaving from panting, and he was still clinging to Ciri’s hand. Eskel finally let go of him, although he did give the bard a half-hearted pat on his shoulder.

The older Witcher glanced at his supplies, then grabbed a small glass vial, adding it to a glass of water. “Drink this,” he said, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Eskel who had seen exactly how much of the drug he’d added.

Jaskier opened his mouth obediently, letting him trickle the water down his throat. “Where’s Geralt?” he asked, finally seeming to be able to control himself again.

“Lambert will find him,” Vesemir promised. “Until then, you two should rest.”


End file.
